


The Moments That Bring Us Together

by ToriCeratops



Series: Moments [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 03:12:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToriCeratops/pseuds/ToriCeratops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds himself in an entirely new situation with Tony, and he's trying to remember how they came to these types of conclusions about one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Steve’s mind is reeling.  His thoughts are travelling faster than he can keep up and his body is reacting in ways he had never thought possible.      


In the very least, in ways that are far beyond anything he believes to be decent.  


It isn’t so much that Tony is just kissing Steve, it’s that the man is outright assaulting him.  Lips are moving harsh and firmly against his, hands exploring parts of him Steve didn’t know would react in the way they currently are. Every move of his own hands up Tony’s back and tangled in his hair his assailant seems to take as a thumbs up to try something new.  What had led to his current state of affairs is still tingling and cloudy in the back of his mind.  


Tony’s mouth leaves Steve’s, and in a manner that is anything but soft and gentle, greedily kisses down the taller man’s jaw line, facial hair scratching in unexpectedly pleasant ways.  “Steve...”  


Ok, at the very...  


Teeth sink into the soft flesh of Steve’s neck, causing him to groan as his knees buckle beneath him.  A tongue flashes across his skin and his muscles react to Tony’s repeated motions along the same spot.  In between attacks he hears a low growl in his ear, “If you say the word I’ll stop, but please,” the growl grows lower, needier, “please for the love of god don’t stop me.”  


...very...  


As he slides mere inches down the wall he finds Tony pushing him hard against it, grinding hips against his, erections pressed far too firmly together through their flimsy workout pants for any of what’s left of Steve’s sanity to remain in tact.      


...very far back of his mind.  Actually, you know what, he has at this point, as a he finds a hand quite unexpectedly up his shirt and rough fingers teasing at his nipple,  entirely  forgotten what it was he was trying to recall from back there.  
  
*  
  
It never hit him like a ton of bricks, which, being Captain America, there was a chance he wouldn’t have noticed anyway.  There was no hallelujah moment, no near death experience, no strange alien intoxication, no bet, no hilarious misunderstandings. What really happened, was it snuck up on him, slowly, deliberately, stealthed in the camouflage of his confusing new life, of this entirely new world, he had suddenly found himself in.     


“This screen is killing my eyes.”  Steve held up the tablet Tony had given him to read the news every morning, moving it back and forth as if adjusting his focus.  Everyone around the table simply rolled their eyes.    


“You can see it just fine Cap, stop being a baby.”  Tony chided him from in the kitchen, where he was leaning against the counter, ignoring the breakfast Bruce had made to work on an engine projection.  


Before Steve was able to make any counter arguments though, Jarvis broke through, “Agent Coulson is at the door.”  


“I got it!”  Clint nearly knocked his chair over jumping from the table.  No one else seemed to pay him any attention, but Steve noted the stupid grin on his face when he heard Phil’s name, and how he was suddenly moving a lot faster than the drudge he had made to come down to breakfast that morning.  It was odd, and he made a mental note to observe him closer at a later date.  


The team was staying in Tony’s home in Malibu, visiting the west coast for some much needed positive PR after their last battle nearly leveled a town in northern California.  They were also taking the opportunity to introduce Steve to many of the cultural changes of the time, and Thor to, well, pop culture in general.    


It had been a much more massive undertaking than any of them had expected.  


“It’s just not right, there’s something... off about it.  I don’t like the way it feels in my hands, I don’t like the way it looks,” he held it up to his nose earning him a baffled look from everyone at the table, “and there’s no, newsprint smell.”  


While Nat, Thor, and Clint, who had just returned and standing oddly close to Phil, were all staring at him as if he’d just removed his head, Tony pretended not to pay attention (even though Steve could tell he was no longer paying any mind to schematics), and Bruce simply nodded with a grin.  


“No, I get it.  I don’t mind using computers and tablets to do my research, but there’s just something about the smell of a library that makes me feel alive.  All those books together in one place..”  Both Steve and Bruce suddenly looked lost as if they were remembering some far off peaceful place, and they smiled together in understanding.    


When Phil interrupted the peaceful silence with their itinerary for the day, Steve caught Tony watching him, staring, studying.  There was something else there too, something in his eyes that he wasn’t sure of.  It worried Steve.  


The next morning, when he thought everyone was still passed out from the party the evening before, Steve crept down to the kitchen for a quiet breakfast, free of chiding.  The teasing never bothered him, it was good natured and he usually poked right back, but a moment of peace all to himself was a nice change from time to time.  


“Well good morning, America.”    


Not that he would ever find it around these friends.  


“Tony, I...” he paused, then gave his friend a quick laugh, “Oh, I got that one!  What are you doing up?  Shouldn’t you still be recovering from last night?”  


“Oh that?  That was nothing, that was... that was me tipsy at best.  I’ve done so much worse.  You should have seen me at my birthday party a few years ago, and god was that a hangover, there was a donut.  Actually, you know what, no.  I’m glad you don’t know about that one.  Forget I said anything.  Anyway, here.”  He slid a tall glass of orange juice across the counter, followed immediately with a tightly rolled up newspaper.    


Steve simply stared at it for several seconds before looking up.  “I thought you swore you’d never have one of these archaic things in your home?”  He was smiling, pleased as punch, and more than just a little curious.   


Tony was staring into his mug of coffee while he spoke, swirling the black goo around, “Well, yeah of course.  I see no point in them at all, and it was really just kind of a flippant comment about them being archaic anyway, I don’t really have a problem with old things.  Some old things are really quite interesting,” he stole a quick glance up at Steve when he said that, the same unknown flash of... something... that had been there the day before.  “..and you know, the way you talked about how they smelled yesterday, I don’t know.  There was something that, you know what, just, just take the stupid paper.”  Throwing his free hand up in perceived defeat, he nodded his head towards the door, a frustrated grimace on his face, and led a bemused Steve, who was trying quite unsuccessfully to hide his laughter, out onto the balcony.    


“You know, Natasha already told me about the donut.”  


That was the first of what would quickly become their not out saving the world, up before everyone else, morning routine, and Steve’s favorite part of the day.  News, coffee, and orange juice, outside on whichever porch they happened to be at, whether it be the house in Malibu, the Avengers tower, or even the SHEILD hellicarrier.    


They received several odd looks the first time they set lawn chairs out on THAT particular deck.    


“Where did you get today's newspaper?  We’re in the middle of the Atlantic!”  He had asked Tony only once, and got only a mischievous eyebrow wiggle in response.    


Steve always woke early, and at first assumed Tony did as well, though he quickly found out that more often than not his friend was simply still awake from the evening before.    It bothered him, and he worried, usually to himself, since Tony would just brush him off when he said anything.   


“I’ve been doing things this way my entire life Steve.  Why would I change now?”   


One midsummer morning, just before the sun was visible above the New York skyline, Tony wandered bleary eyed out to join Steve as the blond was throwing his paper to the floor in disgust.  “Problems with the ol’ black and white there Cap?” He stood behind him, with a hand on Steve’s shoulder, who paid it no attention since it always seemed to be there.  “Kinda glad you don’t use my tablets anymore if you’re going to throw it around when you’re mad at it.”  


“I just don’t understand the modern fascination with everyone’s personal lives.  Why do they think that to be newsworthy?  It’s private, it’s personal, it’s...”  He trailed off momentarily, leaning back to look up into bright blue eyes with a hint of sadness, “it’s none of their damned business.”    


Quite unexpectedly, there was something new sending Steve into a semi state of shock: Tony’s hand was further up his neck, running a rough thumb in small circles just behind his ear.  There was sympathy in the eyes looking down at him, and a hint of worry.  It was new.  It was strange.  It was... It was delightful.  Tony’s touch caused parts of his body that he was entirely unaware were connected to his neck to react.  Just as quickly as it had appeared, the touch was gone.  


“Welcome to the twenty-first century Steve.”  Tony moved over to his own chair talking about modern journalism, but as Steve was entirely focused on trying to figure out what was going through his mind, he wasn’t exactly listening.    


“They’re vultures.  The bigger and more shocking they can make their headline, the more readers they get.  And they’re always having to outdo each other too.”  
Not quite fully grasping what Tony was talking about, he took a few deep breaths,  unable to completely quell the strange feeling deep in his gut.    


“You’ve seen it!  Everywhere we go there’s a dozen of them, trying to catch us in some sensational act.  They don’t have to look too hard for me.  I’ve got YEARS of shit they can just pile the slightest wrong move onto, but you, you’re the gravy train Captain America.  You put one toe out of line and they’ll be all over you.  They’re just waiting, like the vultures they are, for you to slip up, to give them one little bitty thing, a tiny taste.”   


Steve got caught staring, watching the way the sunrise was causing Tony’s muscles to stand out, the way his lips moved while he talked.  It wasn’t doing anything to calm him down, and his mouth  may have been slightly agape.  At least he wasn’t drooling.  


He was pretty sure he wasn’t drooling.  


It wouldn’t have surprised him.  


“Hey!  Are you listening?”  Tony tried to sound offended, but the smirk on his face when he saw how Steve was looking at him gave him away.    


“Yeah!” Did his voice just squeak like a twelve year old? “Ahem, yeah.  Yeah I’m fine.” Giving the wrong answer to a question unasked.  “So uh, about those fourth of July plans?”  


Two weeks later, those plans turned to complete shit.  There were protesters, counter protesters,  photographers and guys with video cameras everywhere, there were senators trying to be seen with the right people, and he lost count of how many microphones were shoved into his face the people holding on to them asking him the most asinine questions.  And of course, to tie it all up in a nice neat little ribbon, there was a crazy guy at the end of the night trying to blow them all up.    


But then again, wasn’t there always?  


The ride home was quiet, subdued, the only noise the sound of the radio coming from the driver's seat, the media already claiming the incident to be planned by some deep seeded conspiracy, when it was really just some crazy, lonely, single nutso white guy.    


Steve was miserable.  


They rode the elevator in complete silence, each member of the team leaving on a different floor to go let off steam in their own special way, even in the dead of night.  Bruce went to his lab, Clint was off to his indoor shooting range, Nat wandered to the armory, most likely to sharpen her knives, and Tony stayed with Steve headed towards the top where all of their living space was.  Steve just wanted to sleep, and wished desperately, not for the first time, that he could do something to keep him knocked out for days.  


“Jarvis, stop the elevator.”  Tony glanced over at him with the faint hint of a smile.  “Take us to the private garage.”  


He really wasn’t in the mood for anything but sleep, and he sighed in frustration.  “Tony, not now.  I just want to go to bed.  I want to forget everything that just happened, that just... I just want sleep.”  


“No.”  Tony didn’t look away from him, and just refused in a simple, emotion free syllable.  


“Excuse me?”  He glared at the man next to him.    


“I said no.  You’ve got this near broken look in your eyes and I can’t let you wander off pouting until I at least attempt to do something about it.”  Tony took a step closer, placing a hand on each of Steve’s arms, catching the pain in his eyes.  “Fifteen minutes Steve.  Ten.  Five!  Just five minutes.”   


Steve was shaking with fury, though none of it for Tony.  For a split second he thought about yelling, about cursing and punching the wall with his fists, fighting with anyone and anything in his way.  But then he felt Tony’s fingers grip his arms tighter, and it somehow calmed him.  Looking into Tony’s concerned eyes, he simply sighed heavily once again.  “I don’t know why I’m doing this anymore Tony.  For one, there are people who follow me everywhere I go, whether they like me or not.  If I leave this tower, I’ve got an unwanted entourage.  Then, there are all of the protestors, and the congressmen, and all the other politicos that are constantly fighting and complaining about everything this country does.  Are those the people I’m fighting to protect?  A country that hates itself?”  He let his shoulders slump into Tony’s grasp, trying desperately not to sound as defeated as he felt.  


Tony, a mixture of frustration and amusement in his sigh responded, “Is that all?  Really?  Come on Steve you can do better than that!  This place is the same it has always been.  Oh, the bells and whistles have changed sure, but at its core, this country is about freedom.  And those people protesting, and the people protesting the protesters?  All are okay by me.  Let ‘em.  Let them think what they want!  They’re allowed to, and no matter how much they yell and scream and say horrible things to each other, when they go home at night, they are their own, unique, individual people, who are allowed to think in their small-minded ways, no matter HOW backwards it may be.  As long as they aren’t throwing rocks at other?  Fuck ‘em.  When the rocks start, that’s when you need to step in, but not until then.  Until then, its freedom, no matter how stupid they may be.”  


It was all Steve could do not to laugh at him, as it was he shook his head with an eye roll.  “That has got to be the most messed up, backwards, excuse for a patriotic speech I’ve ever heard.”  


“I do my best.”  He winked, and... was he closer now?  There seemed to be less space between them.  


“What about the privacy?”  


“There isn’t much we can do about that except for hide in a cave.  I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t do that.  I don’t think I could stand being cooped up with myself for more than a couple hours... max.  However,”  Tony held up a single finger, almost brushing Steve’s lips just as the elevator dinged its arrival.    
The doors slid open to the garage’s dark hallway.  Their footsteps echoing in the emptiness of the garage, Tony led them to the far corner of the room where a large crate stood next to a workbench covered in mechanics tools.    


Sitting on top of the crate was a small red and blue bow next to a rather oversized cupcake.  


“Happy Birthday old man.  What are you now, 90?”  With a stupid smile on his face, Tony reached for the cupcake, pulling a zippo out of his pocket and flicking it to life.    


“It’s two A.M. Tony.  It’s not my birthday anymore.”  Despite his protests, Steve craned his neck around Tony in an attempt to look at what he could only assume was a very large present for him.    


“Days not over till you either sleep,” he focused for a moment on lighting the lone candle, “or the sunrise forces you into tomorrow.”  He said with a matter of fact kind of tone, holding out a now burning candle topped cupcake, one hand reflexively shielding the fire from non existent breeze.    


“You seem fairly confident in that belief.”  


“Trust me, I’ve been forced into tomorrow by my fair share of sunrises.  Now come on, blow out the damned candle before you get wax all over your cupcake.”  They stood toe to toe, the dim light of the flimsy, flickering flame the only thing between them.  


“I uh, thanks Tony.”  He reached for his hand, gently pulling his shield away so he could breathe across the flames.    


They stood in the exaggerated darkness of the recently extinguished flame, silent.  Watching.  Both men waiting for the other to move first.  Steve wasn’t going anywhere.  There wasn’t much that would get him to step away at that very moment, but even less could convince him to move closer before Tony did.  He was completely out of his element, and it didn’t bother him one tiny bit.   


It was terrifying.  


It was thrilling.  


Thank GOD Tony moved first.    


His face slowly changed, the look in Tony’s eyes shifting from amusement to hunger. Moving even closer, so that their bodies began to press gently against each other, ensuring the complete loss of Steve’s ability to think straight, Tony wiggled the cupcake, offering it to Steve.  The blond could barely shake his head.  Tony shrugged, removed the candle by plucking it out with his teeth and dropping it to the ground, then, eyes boring into Steve’s, swirled a far too agile tongue, once, twice, three times around the top of the frosting.  With a low, pleased moan, he swallowed.  


“Come on, it is  your birthday cupcake.  I know you want some of this.”  


Steve blinked.  There really wasn’t anything else he could bring his body to do, it had shut down entirely.  Well, except for the part that was reacting  wildly and to his dismay, quite uncontrollably, to the sight in front of him, but that wasn’t going to answer Tony.    


Not that Tony wouldn’t have minded that particular answer.  


He attempted to clear his throat.  Tony moved his head slightly closer, turning just enough as if to try and listen better.  “I uh,”  he cleared his throat again.  “I’m not uh, not into sweets?”  It wasn’t really a question, but it wasn’t really a statement either, it was really just Steve, voice cracking, trying to be in control of his own body again.  


“I knew that.”  Tony flippantly tossed the cupcake over his shoulder,  “Want to see what I got you?”  Not waiting for an answer, Tony, rather reluctantly, and without removing his eyes from Steve’s, removed his hand from Steve’s grip and shoved the top of the crate to the side before giving the box a quick, effortless kick, the wooden sides falling to the ground.    


With a heavy thud, Steve’s attention was ripped away from Tony, and to the now exposed ancient piece of equipment standing next to them.  Ok, it wasn’t ancient, Steve was older, but he wasn’t going to point that out.  A different kind of excitement, one that Steve recognized and was comfortable with, welled up inside him.  


“Tony!  Is that...”

“An American Indian 841?  Yeah, probably.  Well, no not probably, it is.  It’s just, it needs, well, its a working gift.”

Steve was in shock, surveying the piece of rusted machinery.  He may have started babbling.  “Shaft drive, foot shift...”  


“Should be right there! I think it fell off in the 80’s.”  


“...hand clutch, rubber-mounted handlebars...”  


“Well, they used to be rubber.”    


“...v twin, 90 degree cylinders.”  


“Clint says its a piece of junk.”  Tony shrugged.  


At that Steve looked up at him, momentarily shaken of his complete awe.  “What?  How could he... what does Cupid know anyway?  It could use a little work sure...”

“A lot of work.  Hence, the box of parts.”  The box he kicked rattled with a metallic clang.  “Everything you need to put it back together, plus some spares.  I’ll help, you know, if you want, not that I think you need help or anything, but I know a few things about how mechanical stuff works, and I just thought maybe we could, you know...”    


From his kneeling position in front of the motorcycle, Steve looked back up over his shoulders in a mild shock.  Tony Stark, looking at the same time like the suave man he truly was, and a nervous teenage boy, one hand in his pocket, actually shuffled his left foot while he stared into the distance.  “You want to work on it together?”  There was a hint of disbelief in Steve’s eyes, one eyebrow just a little higher than the other.  


“Well, yeah, I mean, if you want to.”  There he was shrugging again.  “I understand if you don’t, I tend to be a little pushy and overbearing in things like this, and I mean, people tell me no all the time not that I ever really...”  He was interrupted by a hand in his, tugging slightly to bring him down next to Steve, who quickly offered him a wrench with one of his reassuring smiles.  


“Just promise me you will keep it simple.  I don’t need it to fly.”  


“Cross my arc-reactor.”  He made the criss-cross motion across his chest before holding three fingers in the air.  “I won’t make  _this_ bike fly.”


	2. Chapter 2

Steve realizes that they have made it to a bedroom, thankfully, it’s apparently Tony’s.  He’s not one hundred percent on how they made it here, as the last fifteen minutes is a hazy blur of hands and kisses, backwards steps and tripping up stairs, muffled laughs and snide remarks on the balancing capabilities of pumped up super heroes and men without their fancy metal suits.   


When Steve, completely excusably thank you very much, nearly misses the edge of the bed, Tony pushes him back with a laugh.  “You know, I keep telling you to work on your agility.  Those subtle movements just aren’t the same, or as easy, in a big, giant, beefy body as they are in the scrawnier ones.”  With each word his voice gets greedier.  He removes Steve’s shirt while he speaks, tugging at his waistline before he finishes. “You know we could work on that, could come up with some, uh, activities, that would, you know, work on the specific...”  Even though words keep coming out of his mouth, Steve can’t focus on any of them.  His now fully exposed erection is throbbing while he watches Tony move with aching slowness towards a kneeling position between his legs.   


“STARK!”  Steve growls dangerously and meets the momentarily worried gaze of the startled man above him.  “For once in your life, would you please just shut the fuck up!”  At his choice of explicative, Tony startles some before a wicked grin crosses his face.   


“Right-o Cap!”  Steve will later recall a sarcastic salute before seeing Tony’s head disappear, throwing his own head back in mind numbing pleasure. There’s a warmth all around him when he feels Tony’s mouth slowly, somehow teasing every inch, taking him in.  At first, there is nothing but a wave of feelings rocking his entire body, and the subtleties of Tony’s apparent expertise are completely lost on him in the onslaught of sensation.  One hand grasping at the sheets, the other making a complete muck up of Tony’s hair, he takes deep breaths.  There’s no way in hell he’s going to finish this fast the first time, not happening, not if he has any say in the matter.   


Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, he really doesn’t have any say at all in such matters at the moment.   
Taking another deep breath he tries to focus on the individual movements Tony makes, the way his fingers are wrapped around the base of his cock, slowly twisting around, making small motions up and down in rhythm with his mouth.     


‘Breathe Steve.’  He’s thinking to himself as if it will help.   


There’s the feel of Tony’s rough, faintly chapped lips pressed firmly around him, the subtle texture just enough to tease his flesh.   


‘Deep breath.’  He keeps reminding himself to no avail.   


Then there’s his tongue.  Good god, this man’s tongue is a perfect lesson in agility.  He swirls and flicks and presses down hard, and even when he’s light it’s fluttering and sending waves of electricity through Steve’s body.  Tony runs the tip of his tongue from top to bottom and back again, flicking and circling his his head in such a way that even if he could open his eyes, Steve’s completely convinced he wouldn’t be seeing straight.   


He tries to say Tony’s name, but only manages a decidedly unmanly squeak.  This apparently signals him to be even more relentless, and Steve teeters on the edge of self control.  Tony takes him in further, so much that he feels the back of his throat tight around him, pulls back, flicking his tongue around his tip again, then goes back down.     


Nope, no say in this whatsoever.   


When Tony lowers himself around Steve the second time his entire body tightens, shaking, and he gasps out, low and warning, “Tony... Tony I’m...”  and in response, Tony fucking hums around him.  Its low and steady, and shoves him right over the edge.     


It’s a sensation like nothing Steve has ever experienced, as he arches his back an explosion starting low in his gut as his body pulses and shakes when he comes into Tony’s mouth.  The sheets he has grasped in his fist start to tear and he’s only semi conscious of how hard he’s pulling at the hair tangled in his other hand.  His breath is caught in his chest, heart seemingly stopped, cock throbbing and pulsing harder than he ever imagined possible.     


He is completely unaware of how long he remains in a state of complete obliviousness to the world around him.  Eventually, he’s back flat on the bed gasping for air, every brush of flesh against his still overly sensitive skin sending a subtle wave of a reminder to his very core.  When he opens his eyes he sees Tony leering down at him triumphantly.   
“Don’t look so deflated already!”  Tony warns with a smirk.  The man above him licks his lips while staring down, eyes temporarily rolled back in the apparent pleasure of the taste of Steve on his tongue.  He leans down, quickly and firmly kissing him once, twice, then a third time near his ear.  His words are quiet, shaking with his own need, “You don’t know what pleasure is yet Steven Rogers.  Just wait until I fuck you.”   


*************

_One Month Earlier_

_  
_ Sticking to his word, Tony had left the flying bits for the next project, and he and Steve worked whenever they had a quiet afternoon, which were frustratingly sparse.  Through the next few months they stole away an hour here and an hour there.  Steve had known how to do basic repairs on the bikes he drove in the war, but this was starting completely from scratch, and he let Tony teach him the real nitty gritty details of what went where, and more importantly why.  Steve loved the way Tony’s face lit up when he babbled on for hours about the history of modern mechanics.   


“Where do you think this piece should go?”  Covered in grease, sitting next to the bike with a piece of the engine laying between them, Tony handed a short metal piece to Steve, then wiped his forehead, leaving only a larger black smudge.   


The two of them looked like children with a brand new set of legos.   


They had transported everything to California again in the early stages of winter, and were thoroughly enjoying playing hooky from the recruitment duties they had been officially sent on.  The day was warm, and the California breeze comforting as Steve, Tony, Bruce, Nat and Clint all sat out on the lawn doing their own relaxing activities.   
Without speaking, Steve attached the piece to the gear it rotated and smiled, spreading his hands triumphantly.     


Tony clapped.  “You see, that’s the beauty of mechanics.  You can look at something, and think, ‘how is this supposed to work’ and as long as you’re really paying attention, you can make it do that.  You don’t even have to have an intimate understanding of physics or anything as complicated as that.  And fixing things like this engine is even simpler since someone put all the parts together in the first place already. Now all you have to do is find the piece that is NOT doing what it’s supposed to do, then make it do that.  There’s a reason for each and every little part.  All important, all necessary.”  He was staring at the engine for most of his excited babbling, and even started stroking some of the gears fondly.  “It’s beautiful.”   


Steve shook his head, giving Tony a moment of silence with his first and only true love before saying, “You know you don’t make any sense most of the time right?”  He reached out, covering Tony’s hand with his own.   


“And you wouldn’t have it any other way!”  He replied, looking up with a smug grin and twisting his hand so he could rub his thumb over Steve’s fingers.  “Now, next piece!” Tony handed him a similar metal rod, asking him to find its home.   


Steve heard Nat and Clint bickering behind him and turned to glance at Clint watching Natasha do incredibly complicated yoga (he thought it looked painful to be honest) before answering.   


“You’re boyfriend is out finding the fresh meat.  Couldn’t do anything to convince him to play hooky just one more day?”  Natasha smiled with her feet above her head.  Apparently you had to stay limber to be able to kill people with your thighs.   


It’s not a rule or anything, just kinda necessary.   


“Oh believe me I tried.”  Clint, who had been trying to knock her off balance all morning, played what Steve believed to be a viciously dirty trick and tickled the bottom of her bare feet.  She barked a laugh before twisting around to kick him in the head.   


“I wouldn’t exactly call the Pyms fresh meat Nat.”  From the other side of the grassy lawn, Bruce looked up from his own engine project, a much more advanced one than what he currently had between his legs Steve had to admit.  “The man is a genius, and no stranger to heroism.  They probably should have gotten the both of them right from the start.”   


“You’re just saying that because you think his wife is cute.”  When Bruce only shrugged in a very ‘not going to argue’ kind of way, Tony looked up from the bolt he was tightening to add very matter of factly.  “Which of course she really is.  There’s no denying it.”     


Steve was startled at the way his stomach turned at Tony’s words.  He recognized the feeling instantly, though it wasn’t one that hit him very often in his life. Jealousy was pulling at him from every angle, and he didn’t like it.     


But was it new?  Of that he wasn’t sure.  He watched as Tony kept talking to Bruce, completely unaware of what the man in front of him was actually saying.  Steve was, however, acutely aware of the way Tony’s lips moved while he spoke, the way his arm muscles flexed and stretched while he continued to work with the ratchet in his hand. 

 Before he was able to realize what was going through his head Tony was standing and walking towards where Bruce was working on his own little project, and Steve watched.  He watched the way he stretched when he stood, revealing just a hint of flesh above his waistline.  He watched the way his ass moved while he walked away in those way too tight to be decent bluejeans.     


Steve’s mouth was dry.  And yet, he thought as he turned back to the engine in his lap, he was pretty sure he’d  always felt this way when he watched Tony.  Didn’t his stomach always tighten when he caught a glimpse of Tony’s usually concealed bare flesh?  Had he always wanted to lick and bite and kiss every inch of his best friend?  Had he always wanted Tony to... to... he couldn’t even bring himself to think of the words to describe it properly, but god was he picturing it.   


Yes, yes he always had.     


He’d just never put names to the feelings he’d been having for months; never paid more attention than the fact that his body reacting to Tony, but never focused on why.   


“Steve!”  Nat called out to him, pulling him out of his stupor.  “Get over here, I need to win a bet.”   


With one last glance at Tony, who was now quite engrossed in whatever he and Bruce were working on, giggling over it no less, (god he looked good with a smile taking over his entire being), Steve hopped up as well.  “What can I do for you Ma’am?”  He asked, knowing she hated being called that.   


There was only a hint of a glare in her answer.  “I need you to get into a yoga position better than Clint.  He insists it’s his ‘muscular physique’...”   


“Which it is!  I grew up in a damned circus, I can bend with the best of them!”   


She rolled her eyes, “that keeps him from doing it properly.  I happen to know that it's just because he’s incompetent.”  He caught the faintest hint of a smile as she spoke, positive he would have missed it if he hadn’t known her so well.   


Steve was almost certain the man was just messing with her.  He’d seen Clint outmaneuver the woman on more than one occasion.  “No way Natasha.  I’m sorry, but I’m not that stretchy.”   


“I’ve seen you in action.  You really are.”  When she said that, in the corner of his eye Steve saw Tony glance up from his work, a curious look in his eyes.  “Very stretchy.”  It only took him a moment to realize why she had directed that last comment across the yard.     


“I guess I could give it a good try.”  Deciding to take full advantage of the situation, and test a hypothesis he was already about ninety percent sure of, he gave in.  “Give me your worst Nat.”     


She nodded and began stretching at odd angles, expectantly looking for Steve to follow.  He felt horrifically awkward as he leaned forward, straightening his legs and reaching his hands forward to the ground.  Clint, rolling his eyes, joined them, and he and Nat took turns correcting Steve’s form every thirty seconds.     


He felt completely ridiculous, but nevertheless took to yoga rather well, despite how awkward he felt, and how many times he was corrected.  Then there was the way Tony was staring at him every time he was in a position to notice, and it just made the awkwardness kind of melt away bit by bit.  He was being watched, while Tony looked back and forth from the controls in his hand and Steve.  Tony was looking at Steve, the way Steve had been looking at Tony for months.     


The way they had been looking at each other.   


Why hadn’t he seen it before?     


“One more, then we’ll pull out the hard ones okay Steve?”  Natasha lowered herself to her knees and lay back, all the way back.     


“I thought you said the hard ones were next, not now.”     


He did his best to mimic  Natasha’s motions, laying back as far as he could.  There was a point, when he finally got his head to touch the ground, that he thought he would never get up again.  After adjusting to his position, Steve stared up at the sky, pulling his feet out to plant on the ground and raising his hips as far as his body would allow.  He wasn’t really able to turn and look at anything, but he heard the hum of Bruce and Tony’s little project coming fully to life.     


The only voice he heard from across the lawn was Bruce’s exclamations of success at their engine taking off, apparently hovering at just the right level.  Next to him, Natasha let out a low amused grunt.     


He tried to bend his head a little further back to see what she was smirking at, to no avail.     


As Steve got more and more uncomfortable, straining to match Natasha’s stance, he heard Bruce’s excitement turn quickly to fear.  “Turn the power down Tony.... Tony!  Tony turn the power down!”  There was a pop and the familiar crackle of electricity followed by a loud explosion.     


Clint, Natasha and Steve were on their feet in an instant.  Tony and Bruce had been knocked back by the force of the explosion, yet both were still obviously conscious.  Steve ran to check on Tony while the other two headed towards Bruce.  Everyone on the lawn kept a close eye on Bruce’s reaction to being knocked across the driveway.     


Even Tony, who was rubbing the back of his head after scraping it along the concrete, joined the collective sigh of relief as laughter escaped Bruce’s lips.     


Rage Monster Crisis averted, Steve turned to a groaning Tony and knelt beside him.  “Are you alright?  How bad did you hit your head?”   


“I’m fine.  I’ve had so much worse.”  When he withdrew his hand from his neck it was spotted with blood.  Steve frowned, and Tony only shrugged while he was pushed forward so Steve could look at his scrape better.  “See, hardly any bleeding even!  Probably got a couple of rocks stuck back there though.”     


“And what happened to Tony Stark, mechanical wizard?”  He flicked a couple of pebbles out of the beat up flesh, noting that it wouldn’t need much more attention than a good rinse.   


“Well, I was distracted.”  There was a decidedly accusatory smirk in Tony’s eyes when he forced his head back to look up at Steve.   


“By what exactly.” Steve feigned complete ignorance to what Tony was referring to.   


“Why are you... look, I... You know what, you should feel sorry for me!  Look, I’m bleeding, don’t you feel sorry for me?”   


“Not in the slightest.”   They remained on the ground for a moment, Steve getting the last of the larger objects out of Tony’s neck before wiping some of the dirt from his face.  He couldn’t help but notice how the man beneath him moved toward his touch, eyelids fluttering ever so slightly when he moved his fingers across his face.  “Tony?”   


“Hmm?”  He was distracted again.   


“Promise me something?”  Steve stopped his motions and made sure Tony was looking at him.  “No matter how many distracting things are around,” he paused and gave him a sheepish grin, “even if its me that got you so distracted, promise me” his grin was replaced with the look he always had when giving a command that wasn’t to be argued with, “that if you’re working with anything that could go critical like that, you focus?  I don’t want you hurting anyone because of me, or worse, hurting yourself.”   


This made Tony’s grin fade as he looked up at Steve.  He was quiet for a moment, a curious look covering his face.  Steve wasn’t sure if he was trying to come up with an argument, come up with something smart ass to say (which would have been the most likely scenario if it hadn’t already taken him more than half a second to come up with), or going to try and change the subject again.  Curiosity faded to understanding, then acceptance.     


With an appreciative smile, Tony nodded.  “As you wish Cap.  I can’t make any solemn vows, but I’ll do my best.”    


Steve, knowing Tony well enough, took that for what it was, the closest thing he was ever going to get to Tony doing as he was told.   


While the group spent the remainder of the daylight cleaning up bits and pieces of hoverbike engine, Tony and Steve kept stealing glances at one another, smiling, blushing, (ok, Steve did the entirety of the blushing) but never really saying much.     


He found it odd that over the next few days, they didn’t actually speak much to each other at all.  Even their morning ritual seemed quieter, not any less comfortable, just, like they were both avoiding something.     


Which, of course, Steve had to admit, they really were avoiding the elephant, the giant purple elephant.

On parade.

The night before they were to return to New York, the entire team was supposed to go for a celebratory dinner with their new members.  Yet even though Tony had planned the entire thing himself, well, Pepper had, he stood them all up.  Steve spent most of the evening in a brooding silence, trying desperately to figure out what could have possibly kept him from the evening that he had planned.   


Before they had even finished the main course, Steve excused himself, no longer able or willing to enjoy himself without Tony there.  He went directly back to the house, and started looking in all of the obvious places first.  Though once he had checked the workshop, garage, and the workout room, he wasn’t really sure where to look next.     


“Jarvis, where is Tony?”   


“He requested that no one disturb him.”  Even though he audibly obeyed Tony’s wishes, Jarvis gave him away, silently indicating on the screen in front of Steve that he could be found on the roof.  Steve patted the wall above the screen, thanking the AI.   


Instead of trying to find a access point to the roof, he climbed on the rail of the balcony outside, and jumped.  He’d made larger leaps before, this one was nothing.   


On the smooth surface over looking the inky blackness of the ocean, he found Tony, sitting on the edge, legs dangling out, a bulky, beat to shit, crude version of his helmet, and a plastic box with an equally beat to shit version of his arc reactor inside it next to him.   


“Tony?”     


The man on the edge turned around, setting his glass of amber liquid down next to him.   


“Hm?”   


Steve took a deep breath, and asked a question he knew was dangerous around the other man, “Are you okay?”   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC


End file.
